The Merchant's Curse

The Merchant’s Curse

For Alisa—

Who does all things with great love

The Merchant’s Curse

The Harwood Mysteries Book 4 Antony Barone Kolenc

© 2022 Antony Barone Kolenc

All rights reserved

Cover art credit: Martin Beckett, MahirAtes/iStockphoto/Getty Images. p. vii-ix Map art credit: Martin Beckett

Back cover author photo: SSSPHOTOGRAPHIC, LLC

ISBN: 978-0-8294-5427-7

Library of Congress Control Number: 2022935307

Printed in the United States of America 27 30 31 Versa

How to Read Historical Fiction

TheMerchant’sCurse isaworkofhistoricalfiction.Thistypeofbook differsfromnonfictionbecausethestoryisimaginedbytheauthor anddoesmorethansimplytellyou“whathappened.”Rather,thistype ofbookhelpsyou,thereader,understandwhathappenedinhistory whiledrawingyouinandentertainingyou.Thestoryinvitesyouto makeconnectionswithsituationsandcharactersandtodiscoverwhat staysthesameforpeopleofanyperiodandalsodeterminewhatmight have changed over time.

Eventhoughthecharactersandeventsareimagined,anauthorof historicalfictiontriestobeaccuratewhenpresentingwhatitmight havebeenlikeforaspecificgroupofpeopletoliveandworkinaparticulartimeandplace.That’swhyanauthormightpresentscenesand dialogue that differ greatly from what we experience today.

Thesedifferencesarealsowhysomeofwhatyoureadmightfeelforeignorevenshocking.Asyouread,rememberthatinsomecases,the charactersaren’tdoingsomething“wrong”;theyaresimplydoingwhat wasconsideredacceptableatthattime.Asthereader,it’simportantfor youtoreadcriticallythroughout.Ifyou’reinterestedinlearningmore aboutthehistoricalcontextof TheMerchant’sCurse,you’llfindmore information in the back of the book, in the Author’s Historical Note.

Here are some tips for making the most of The Merchant’s Curse.

Before Reading

DosomebriefInternetresearchaboutlifein twelfth-century England andinatypicalcityofthattime.Watchavideo,viewillustrations,or read an article to gain some historical context.

During Reading

Ask yourself questions such as the following:

• In what ways are the actions and reactions of young characters like those of kids today? In what ways are they different?

• God and religion played a significant role in the lives of people during the Middle Ages. What religious terms and ideas in The Merchant’s Curse seem strange to you, and why? What aspects of religion in the story are more familiar to you, and why?

• Xanandhisfriendsrelyonthecareandhonestyoftheadultsin theirlives.Howaretheseexpectationschallenged?Whatgoalsand dreamsinfluencedpeopleinthisstory?Doyouseeanythingsimilarhappeningtoday?Whyorwhy not?

After Reading

Ask yourself questions such as the following:

• Inwhatwaysdopeoplenowthinkandactdifferentlyfrompeople inXan’stime?Doyouthinktoday’swaysarebetterornot? Why?

• People suspected the so-called witch because they feared her powers. Why do you think they believed in magic rather than a logical explanation? How do people view magic today? What are some similarities and differences in viewpoints between the Middle Ages and now?

• Xan was trying to learn how to be wise as he solved multiple mysteries. What did he learn about wisdom from his experiences? Where do you look for wisdom?

1 Ruins

Xan stood alone amid the rubble of Lincoln Cathedral. Thesinkingredsuncastshadowsonthedirtfromthe jaggedstonesthatoncehadsoaredoverthecathedral’snave. Theterribleearthquakeof1185hadrippedapartthechurch,which hadlaininruinsformuchof1186.ThisverymonthofAugust,laborersfinallyhadcometosmashthecathedral’sshakywalls—exceptits solid western wall, which the quake had spared.

Aloneskylarkchirpedapleasanttunefromitsperchuponthat westernwall.Thelittlebird’ssongrecalledatimewhenthecathedral hadtoweredwithmajesticpillarsandhighwindowsthatseemedto open to Heaven itself.

BrotherAndrew’sfinalbitofadvicebackatHarwoodAbbeyseemed doublytrueinallthiswreckage: Donottrustthevanitiesofthislife, Xan.Thosewhoseekthemarechasingafterwind.Theblack-robed monkhadspokenthosewordsmorethanninemonthsago,justbefore XanhadriddentoLincolntobecomeUncleWilliam’sapprenticeinhis merchant shop.

Ifhewerehere,BrotherAndrew—actually,theycalledhim Father Andrewnowthathewasapriest—probablywouldraiseahandand pointtotheseruinsasproofoftheworld’svanity.He’dmarvelathow thisonce-proudcathedralsufferedhumiliationeachdayatthesweaty handsoftheworkersdiggingupitsbrokenstatues,rustedcandlesticks, and shards of colored glass.

The lark’s song ended, replaced by a cry for help.

Surelythatwasn’toneoftheworkersshoutingout:they’dalreadyleft forthenightdownthesteeproadthatseparatedthecathedralfromthe thickwallsofLincolnCastle,whichhadsurvivedthequakeandstood firmly on its ground.

“Xan,help!”ThatwasSimon’svoice.Theboymusthavefollowed him to this place. Maybe Simon had been hurt in the rubble.

“Coming!”Hehurdledanironpoleanddashedpastachunkofwall toward the cry.

Thiswasnoplaceforaten-year-oldboy;that’swhyhehadn’t broughtSimontobeginwith.Thereweretoomanyhiddenhazards, evenplaceswhereabanditcouldhide.Asheturnedthefinalcorner—abittoosharply—hisbrowntuniccaughtontheedgeofastone and tore.

There stood Simon.

Sureenough,theboyhadstrayedintothedangerousareatheworkershadblockedoff.Thiswasthepartofthecathedralbuiltoverthe ancientcryptoftheSaxonchurchthathadstoodherelongbefore. Thatcrypthadheldmorethantombstonesbeforethequakehadtumbled the cathedral’s walls down into it.

“Xan,I’mintrouble!”SweatyclopsofhairframedSimon’sgrimy face,andasoiledshirthungovertherippedblackpantscoveringhis gangly legs—proof of how much trouble he was in.

“I see that.”

Simonwasstrandedonajuttingislandinaseaofdestruction.He hadclimbedontooneofthepillarsthequakehadhurledintothe

crypt,whichmusthaveshiftedundertheboy’sweight,creatingavoid. One wrong step and he’d plunge headlong into the debris-filled pit.

“Idon’tthinkIcangetdown.”ThegapbetweenSimon’sfrontteeth wasaswideaseverandfilledwithblood,asthoughhe’dbanged his mouth.

“I don’t know why you’d go up that pillar in the first place.”

Simon hung his head low. “Yes, you do.”

“Right.”Ofcourseheknewwhy:Simonhadcometosearchforthe bandit Carlo’s treasure, probably still buried in that crypt.

“I thought I saw a way down there.” Simon’s voice was trembling.

Xanpointed.“’Tisfilledwithstones,see?Noonewillevergetinto that crypt again.”

Theworkerswhohadspentthedayfillingthecavernousholewith dirtandrocksdidn’tknowthatCarlohaduncoveredthecryptyears ago.Thosemenhadnoideathatthebandithadburiedhisjewelsand coinsinoneofthetombsbeforemeetingdeathinthedungeonsofLincoln Castle.

Thatsecretwasknowntoalmostnoone:onlyXan,Simon,anda fewothers.NoonehadactuallyseenthetreasureexceptXan . . .and sweetLucy,ofcourse.She’dbeenwithhimthenighttheysolvedthe mystery of the cathedral and found Carlo’s fortune.

“Doyouthinkthetreasureisstillthere?”Simonasked,stretching out his arms for balance.

“I don’t know.”

EitherCarlo’swealthwaslostforeverinthatcrypt,orthatscarred banditRummyhadstolenit.RummyhadtakenXanprisonerthe nightofthequakeandforcedhimtoleadtheevilbandittothetreasure.Thenthequakehadcome;Rummyhadcalledit God’sthunder. EvenasXanhadfledthecrypt—thewallsshakingtopiecesaround them—thatgreedyvillainhadstayeddownthere,stuffingabagwith jewels and coins.

Rummy’srottingcorpsewasprobablystillthere,buriedforeternity with his vain riches.

Thelarkrekindleditshappytunejustasthegrindingrocksshifted underSimon’sfeetagain,causinghimtoyelpandfalltohisknees.He stared into the pit. “What do I do, Xan?”

Carlo’s treasure suddenly seemed unimportant.

Xaninchedtotheedgeofthepit.Thesolutionwasobvious:Simon mustleapoverthevoid—aboutthreefeet—tosolidground.“Youneed to jump. Right here.” He pointed to the spot.

ButSimonstoodfrozenlikeastatue.“I-Ican’t.I’llfall.I’llbreak my neck!”

Thatwasapossibility,butagreeingwithSimonwouldonlyparalyze the boy further.

“Letmethinkamoment,”Xansaidinstead.He’dkeptupthelessons thatFatherAndrewhadbegunwithhimatHarwoodAbbey:reading, writing,Latin,andstudyingtheScriptures,especiallythesayingsof wisemensuchasKingSolomon,whohadpleasedGodbyaskingfor the gift of wisdom instead of wealth.

WheneverSolomonhadaproblem,he’dcomeupwiththewisest solution,evenifitseemedbizarre.Onceapairofwomencametohim, bothclaimingtobethemotherofthesamebaby.Solomondecreed thatthechildshouldbechoppedintwowithasword,andhalfofthe babygiventoeachwoman.Inthatway,hediscoveredthetruemother’s identity:shewastheonewhobeggedSolomontogivethebabytothe other woman instead of cutting the child in half.

Simonneededawiseplanlikethatrightnow.Solomonhadgiven themotheragrimchoicethathadforcedhertoacttruly.Whatchoice didSimonneedsothathewouldmaketheleapwithoutthefearof death freezing him on that rock until it was too late?

“I know what to do,” Xan said, after a moment.

“W-w-what?” Simon peered into the pit again.

“I’llgotoyoursisterandletherknowwhatyou’vegotyourselfinto. She’ll help us. ”

“Nay,notmysister!”Simon’sfacegrewpale,asthoughhissister scared him more than the black crypt before him. “Not Chrissy!”

Christinadidn’tlookscaryatall,withheremeraldeyesandauburn hair that flowed over her shoulders. But she could be terrifying.

“Chrissy will murder me if she finds out I climbed up here.”

“Sorry.”Heshookhishead.“Theonlywaytoavoidtellingyoursisterwouldbeifyoujumped,butyousaidyoucan’tdothat,soI’llgo fetch her.”

HeturnedhisbackonSimonandwalkedtowardthepaththat wouldbringhimtotheroadleadingtoChristina’shome. One,two, three . . . It wouldn’t take much longer now.

“Wait,”Simonshouted.“Watch!”Theboyleaptoverthepitwithout a hint of fear, landing on the dirt mere inches from the void.

“You did it!”

Xan rushed over to congratulate him.

Butthecrypthadn’tfinishedwithSimonyet.Thedirtgaveway beneathhistoes.Helosthisbalance,thenslidtohisknees,thenfellto his stomach, his legs disappearing into the void.

“Help!”

XandovetothegroundandgrabbedSimon’soutstretchedhandas the rocks shifted again, rumbling down into the heart of the crypt.

“Gotyou!”Heheldtighttotheboy’swristandsteadiedhimself. “Easydoesit,now.”Heleanedbackonhisheelsandlettheweightof his own body pull Simon from the pit.

Theboygaspedforbreathonhisstomach,histhinfingersclutching the ground.

“Thanks.”

Intheendhisplanhadworked,hadn’tit?KingSolomonwouldhave beenproud.BeingwiselikeSolomon(evenwiser,maybe)surelywould leadapersontohappiness.EvenFatherAndrewwouldhavetoagree that wisdom was a goal worth chasing in this world.

“Comeon,now,”hesaid,grabbingSimon’sarmandpullinghimto hisfeet.“Nexttimekeepawayfromthemarked-offarea.You’renot going to find any treasure down there.”

Theyheadeddownthepath,itsflatstonesunevenundertheir leather shoes.

“And stop following me around in secret, Simon.”

“Well,thenstopgoingoffbyyourselfallthetime.Don’tyouwant any friends, Xan?”

Friends. Attheabbeyhe’dhadfriends:dearLucyandJoshuaand FatherAndrewandSisterRegina,evenDavidandJohn.He’dleftthem allforUncleWilliamandthepromiseofanewlifeinLincoln.That had seemed to be God’s will, but maybe it was another useless vanity.

AsFatherAndrewhadsaid,allthatthislifeofferswillpassaway. MotherandFatherweregoneinmomentsafterthebanditssetfireto HardonburyManor.AndHarwoodAbbeywasgone,too,nowthathe’d come to Lincoln as Uncle’s apprentice.

Apprentice? Hewasmorethanamereapprentice:hewouldinherit Uncle’swealthoneday,thoughhewasonlythirteenyearsold.The futurelookedbright;heshouldbemuchhappierthanthis—much more certain about deciding not to become a monk.

Backattheabbey,thewise,dyingabbothadtoldhimnevertofear thedecisionsofhislife.Theoldmonkhadsaidtoembracethosedecisionswithafullheart,onestepatatime.“Then,andonlythen,will God light the next step in your path,” the abbot had predicted.

“Xan?” Simon was apparently waiting for some kind of answer. “Right, Simon. Friends are important. Of course you ’ re right.”

Except things weren’t quite right.

Lifeasanapprentice—withUncle,withChristina—noneofithad turnedoutthewayitshould.Godstillhadn’tlithisnextstepon thepath.MaybeithadbeenamistakecomingtoLincoln.Maybehe should have stayed at the abbey, after all.

Theywalkedawhiletogetherinsilenceamongthecathedral’slonely stones.

Whenthey’dalmostreachedtheendoftheruins,Simonstuckout hisarmandbreathedinsharply.“Let’snotgothisway.See—thatwitch is coming!”

Ahead,awomaninacloakhobbledontheroadtowardtheruins, herfaceinvisibleinthetwilight.SimonandChristinahadfirstseen thestrangewomaninLincolnlastweek,but,forsomereason,they’d already convinced themselves that she was wicked.

“Come on, Xan.” Simon veered from the path. “Hurry!”

But they were too late. Simon’s witch was already upon them.

Xangrippedthemetalbladethathungbehindthecounterin UncleWilliam’smerchantshop.Heslidafingeroverits edge—probablytoodulleventoscarethathobblingwoman they’dpassedlastnight,whileSimonhadheldhisbreathtoavoidevil spells.Still,thebladewassturdyenoughtoprythelidoffthiscrate. He’d better be careful not to splinter the wood.

“What’s in this crate, anyway, Uncle?”

UncleWilliamsteppedtothetableandscratchedathischinthe samewayFatherusedtodobeforesolvingaproblem.“Idonotrightly know, Stephen—I mean Xan. ”

Unclestillslippedupsometimesandcalledhim Stephen (hisbirth name)insteadof Xan,thenamehe’dtakenattheabbeywhenhe’dlost hismemoryforawhile.Likesomanyotherthingsthathadpassed away, Stephen wasanamehe’dleftbehindinHardonbury,alongwith thegravesofFatherandMother.AtleastUnclewasnowcorrecting himself when he made that mistake.

UncleWilliamtuggedontheedgeofthefinegreentunicthathung overhisblackpants.Heturnedtowardthenarrowhallwaybetween

theshop’sopensellingareaanditsstorageroom.“Hoy,Godric!Have you any idea about this crate?”

Heavyfootstepsapproached,andGodricstruttedin,duckinghis headofcurlythickhairtoavoidhittingthetopofthedoorpost.His wideshouldersandbulkyarmsalwaysseemedasthoughtheymight burst through his blue shirt and scrape along the walls of the passage.

Godricslappedthetopofthecrateandlaughed—thesamejovial laughheusedwhentellingajokeorgreetingaladyatmarket.“’Tis thatloadoffineclothfromFlandersIspokeoflastmonth.Itarrived on the ship last night. Surely you did not forget, my good partner.”

GodricoftencalledUnclehis goodpartner,butwhydidUncleneed abusinesspartnerwhenhehadanapprenticenow?Xanhaddone morethananypartnerevercould.He’devengivenUncletheprecious emeraldhe’dreceivedasrestitutionfromCarlobeforethebandit’s death.Withthatemerald,Unclehadpaidoffhiscrushingdebtto theMaster,thatruthlessusurerwho’dchargedanexcessiveamountof interest on the loan and had threatened to take Uncle’s life.

TheemeraldhadsavedUncle’sbusinessfromruin,yetstillhe’d joinedupwithGodric.XanhadgonebacktoHarwoodAbbeyforonly afewmonths.IfUnclehadwantedhelpduringthattime,hecould havereliedonChristina,whomhepaidtocleanaroundhishome, straightenuphisshop,andmakedeliveriesdownatthedock.There was no need for a business partner.

True,GodricwasanexperiencedmerchantwithfriendsinFlanders, Sicily,andevenNorthAfrica.Alsotrue,themanhadgreatwealth, whichhespentfreelyontheirbusiness—andalsoonwineandthe prettywomenwhoflockedtohim.ForGodric,everynightseemedto endwithdininganddrinkingandmerrymaking.Still,partnerscame with complications.

“Ofcourse!Iremember,”Unclesaid,pattingGodric’sshoulder. “Open it, dear nephew.” Xan set the blade to the edge of the crate.

Beforehe’dpriedthetopoff,Christina’smelodicvoicefloatedin fromthestreet.Shewaslaughingwithsomeone:probablyGodric’s nephew,Nigel.“Ohcomenow,you’reteasingagain!Surelyyou’ve never rode upon the swans in that pool.”

“ButI did,”Nigelsaid,stridingthroughtheoakendoor.“Theyare very strong animals.”

ThemanboreallthefeaturesofayoungerversionofGodric.When thetwoofthemdalliedabouttowntogether—especiallyaroundthe womeninthesquare—theywereoftenmistakenasbrothers.Godric’s headhadgrayedalittle,andhisbellywasrounder,buttheybothhad similar stacks of hair and wide muscles and disarming laughs.

NigelheldthedooropenandbowedasChristinaglidedintothe shopinherprettiestgreenfrock.Hercheeksseemedrosierthanusual, andwithherentrancecameasweetscentoflilies,asthoughshehad taken a bath in perfume.

“Let’saskaneutralparty,”shesaid,seeingXanandgrinning.“What do you say,Alexander?Canagrownmanrideuponthebackofaswan like a horse?”

Godric’snephewgavehimaconspiratorialwink.“Goonthen,Xan. Declare your verdict.”

Xanshrugged.“WhatdoIknowofsuchthings?I’malwayshere working.”

Nigel tsk-tsked athim.“Whysosour,Xan?Youneedtogetout more often.”

AsbadasitwasthatUnclehadtakenonabusinesspartner,even worsewasthattheman’snephewwouldstrutabouttheshop,playing sillygameswithChristina.Buttherewasnothingtobedoneforit; theywerestuckwithNigel.Godrichadannouncedlastmonththat hewouldleaveallhisfortunetoNigeloneday,includinghissharein Uncle William’s business.

Atonlytwenty-fouryearsofage,Nigelhadbecomethekindofman Christinahadoncepredictedshewouldmarry:wealthy,witty,and handsome. Plus, he was ten years older than she was.

“William,”Nigelsaidwithalaugh.“Youareworkingyournephew toohard.Lettheboyplayonceinawhile.”Hereachedintotheleather pouchonhisbelt,retrievedabrownlinen,andunwrappedamoist sliceofcake.“Ibringyoucheer,Godric.Iboughtthisfromthebaker for you. ”

Godric’sfaceglintedasheswipedthecakeoffthelinenanddowned it in a single gulp. “You are too good to me, Nigel. Too good.”

Christina’s eyes flashed. “You brought cheer for only one of us?”

LucywouldneverflirtwithNigelasChristinadid.Tobefair, though,Lucy was inthenunneryatHarwoodAbbey,preparingtotake religious vows. Christina had no such ambitions.

Nigelchuckledandreachedintothesturdypouchagain,pullingout awhitelinenwithseveralmoreslicesofcake.“Ofcoursenot,mydear. There’s enough cheer for everyone. ”

“You’reforgiventhen,”shesaid,takingaslice.Shepoppedthecake between her lips and licked the tips of her pale fingers.

“Iamgladyouareback,Christina,”UncleWilliamsaid.“Where have you been all morn?”

“Donotbeharshwithher,”Nigelsaid.“Ifoundthissweetgirlinthe market,wipingupachild’smess.Icannotfathomhowsuchatinybaby can produce such a large stench.”

Christinasmiled.“William,youknowIhelpthewidowAgnescare forherchildrenonTuesdaymornings,soshecangotomarketwith two free hands.”

AgnesattendedthesameparishasChristina’sfamily.Threemonths ago,afterAgnes’shusbanddiedinanaccident,Christinahadbeenso movedbythewoman’smisfortunethatshe’dshownupatthepoor widow’s house one day to offer her assistance.

“Ofcourse,”Unclesaid.“Iforgot.’Tisakindactofcharityindeed. ButnowIneedyoutounloadsomefineclothfromFlandersandplace it on the storage shelves in back.”

“Iwouldbegladto,”shesaid,hergazescanningtheroom.“Where is it?”

ThewarmthofhereyesrestedonXanashepriedthefinalcorner ofthecrateandrevealedthesoftfabricswithin:green,red,white,and purple.“Ah!”Shesteppedclosetohimandcaressedthefabrics.“PerhapswecanfashionXananewtunicofpurple,William.Hisbrown oneisalreadytorn,Isee.Andthatcolor’sabittoodullforamerchant’s apprentice, don’t you think?”

“’Tistrue,”Unclesaid,eyeingNigel,whosefineredshirtsuffered not even a wrinkle.

“PerhapsXanneedsacap,too,”Nigelsaidwithasmirk.“Seehow hisheadissobigandround,withhispointyearsstickingupthrough his hair.”

Christinafoldedherarmsandpretendedafrown.“Stopteasing poorAlexander.Besides,hehasthemostpreciousbrowneyesI’ve ever seen. ”

UncleputhishandsonXan’sshouldersandsmiled.“Godric,once wegetXananewtunic,thesetwowillmakequitethesplendidpairof nephews, will they not?”

“Quitethepair,”Godricsaid.“WhenNigelarrivedfrommybrother onlytwoyearsago,Ibarelyknewhim.Yethehasshownhimselfastrue a nephew as your own, William.”

ExceptthatbeingapairwithNigelwasabsurd.Apairofnephews couldn’tworkthesamesaleofgoods,orunloadthesamecrateof imports,ormarrythesamegirl.AndNigelwasolder,taller,andmore agreeable. That meant Nigel would always be the better of the pair.

WhyhadhebotheredtoleavetheabbeyifUnclehadsomeonelike Nigel around to help?

“Wewon’tbeapairifIsailtoParisandjoinDukeGeoffreyatcourt,” Nigel said.

Godric’snephewoftenactedasthoughtheDukehadinvitedhimto bereceivedatcourtashisroyalmerchant.ButwhywouldoneofKing Henry’s sons take an interest in Nigel at all?

“You wouldn ’t leave us like that,” Christina said. “Surely not.”

Xanshookhishead.“’Tisnotlikely.HebarelymettheDukeonly that one time.”

NigelhadsoldDukeGeoffreyasinglepieceofjewelrywhenthe DukehadpassedthroughLincolnlastyear.Nowheactedasthoughhe and the Duke were hunting companions.

“Ifyoumustknow,Xan,”Nigelsaid.“Iexchangedaletterwiththe Duke’spersonalservantinFebruary.TheDukeseeksthetwintothat brooch I sold him, and I have half a mind to bring it to Paris myself.”

Christinaputherhandsonherhips.“Don’tyougogettingNigel upset,Alexander.You’llchasehimawayacrossthechannelereyou’re done, if you keep this up. ”

If only being rid of Nigel were that easy.

“Stopallthisbickering,”Unclesaid,laughing.“Wehaveworkto do.”

Unpackingcratesandspeakingtocustomerswasn’t true work, though.ReallaborwasharvestingthecropsintheEastFieldback atHardonbury,orworkingtheabbey’sgrangeswiththelaybrothers, ortranslatingLatinfromoneofFatherAndrew’sparchmentsinthe abbey’slibrary.Butthosedaysweregonenow,likesomanyothervanities in this world.

“Comeon,Xan.”Nigelslappedhimonthebackabittoohard. “WhileChristinaunpackstheselinens,whynotjoinmeatthedocks toseeifanothershipmenthascome?Icanteachyoutoridethewhite swans in the pool.”

AsXanopenedhismouthtosay no,UncleWilliamburstintothe conversation.“Abrilliantidea,Nigel!”Unclepulledoutachangepurse andhandedittoXan.“Youtwogo.Eveniftheshipmenthasnotyet come, be sure to stop at the blacksmith and pick up our order.”

“Aye, Uncle.”

NigeltuggedthesleeveofGodric’sshirt.“Whynotjoinus,Godric? Perhapswecanstopatthe wine-seller’sandfindusabottleofredfor thisevening’smerrymaking.DoesitnotsaysomewhereintheScriptures that we should eat, drink, and be glad?”

“Ayeitdoes,”Godricsaid.“AndIgladlywilljoinyou.Walkingwith thissplendidpairofnephewsmayprovetomakeforanamusing journey.”

ThelasttimeGodricandNigelhadgonetobuywine,they’dgotten inafistfightwithseveraldaylaborerswho’dcomeinfromtheoutlying fields. Godric had called that amusing too.

ChristinapattedXan’sarminpretendsympathy.“Besuretokeep those two out of trouble.”

Nigelgavehimawink.“Youmightwanttotakethatblade,Xan,in case we get ambushed by those ruffians again.”

Unfortunately,anambushwasarealpossibilitywiththosetwo mischief-makers.

n this thrilling installment of the award-winning series, The Harwood Mysteries, Xan is living in Lincoln as a merchant’s apprentice his all Uncle William’s business partner has deathly ill after he angered a mysterious, scarred woman marketplace. Nigel, the reckless nephew of William’s partner, has put by befriending an of the King.